“That’s different. Game math makes sense. Physics is just the universe mocking me.”
He laughed. It was a deep, full-bodied sound that I felt as much as heard. We were sitting on his couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, yet far enough thatwe weren’t quite touching. Well, unless one of us got excited and grabbed the other’s arm. Or when we both reached for the bowl of popcorn at the same time. Or when he leaned over to point at something on the screen and his shoulder pressed against mine.
Those moments were becoming more frequent as the day wore on.
“Okay, watch,” he said, restarting the level. “See how the portal creates momentum? You’re not falling, you’re launching.”
I watched his hands on the controller. His massive hands, that could probably crush the device without effort, moved with surprising dexterity. His claws were filed short, I noticed. Neat and careful. Everything about him was like that, I was learning. Controlled. Contained. He was constantly aware of his own strength and actively chose gentleness.
It was doing things to my heart I wasn’t quite ready to examine.
“Your turn,” he said, passing me the controller. Our fingers brushed, and I definitely didn’t imagine the way he hesitated before pulling away.
I tried the level again, following his guidance. This time I made it through, barely.
“Ha! See? Physics and I are friends now.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I could have figured it out. Eventually, I mean.” I winked.
“Maya, you’ve died twelve times on this level.”
“You know, in some cultures, thirteen’s a lucky number.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. That smile did things to me. It was so different from what I’d imagined during our late-night gaming sessions. It was wider, more uninhibited, revealing those sharp teeth that should have been intimidating but somehow weren’t.
Everything about him was like that. Different from what I’d imagined, but in ways that made the reality better than the fantasy.
We’d been gaming for hours now, falling into our familiar patterns. The awkwardness from this morning had faded, replaced by something comfortable. This was us, the way we were online with the banter, the teamwork, the peaceful silences between levels. Except now I could see his expressions when he laughed at my jokes, could watch him lean forward in concentration during difficult sections, could catch him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I snuck a glance at him every chance I could.
“Break time?” Geoff suggested, standing up and stretching. His shirt rode up, revealing a strip of white fur over what looked like extremely well-defined abs.
I looked away quickly, heat flooding my cheeks. “Yeah. Break time. Good idea.”
He headed to the kitchen, and I took the opportunity to grab my phone from the counter where it had been charging. Finally back to life, the screen lit up with a barrage of notifications.
Seventeen texts from my mom. Ten from my best friend Heidi. Two missed calls from my new landlord. And one text from an unknown number that made my stomach drop. Hey, it’s Chase. Heard you moved to Calamity Creek? We should catch up.
I stared at that last message, my good mood evaporating. Chase. My ex. The guy who’d spent two years slowly convincing me I wasn’t interesting enough, attractive enough, successful enough. Who’d made me feel small in ways I was still recovering from.
“Everything okay?”
I looked up to find Geoff watching me, concern etched across his features. He was holding two glasses of water, but he’d gone very still, like he was reading something in my body language.
“Yeah, my ex-boyfriend texted from an unknown number because I blocked his dumb ass ages ago. Haven’t heard from him in six months and suddenly he wants to ‘catch up.’” I made air quotes, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
Geoff’s expression darkened. “You don’t have to respond.”
“I know. I won’t. Haven’t talked to him in over a year, and I’m not going to start now.” I sighed, tossing my phone onto the couch. “Why do they always do that? Wait until you’ve finally moved on and then pop back up?”
“Because they’re idiots who don’t know what they had.” He said it with such conviction that I looked up in surprise. “What? It’s true. Anyone who didn’t appreciate you is an idiot.”
Warmth filled my chest. “You don’t know what I’m like in a relationship. Maybe I’m terrible.”
“You’re not terrible.”
